Ready or Not
by and if I dream
Summary: Minerva McGonagall's not quite ready for another one. Another Potter, that is. Not after the deaths stemming from the presence of the last Potter to attend Hogwarts. Especially not after that night in 1980. But here he is- and she certainly can't leave.
1. Chapter 1

Minerva McGonagall stood in the entrance hall, waiting for the first years.

The first years, eleven years after that day in 1980. Eleven- the age of the Potter boy, if he'd survived the Muggles. She knew he was on the Hogwarts list, but she'd sent hundreds of letters to him with no reply. But that wasn't her concern now. No, now was time to welcome a new generation Hogwarts. She tugged uneasily at the sleeve of her emerald green robes as she waited, hearing the faint tramping of feet coming up the walk outside. The doors swung open and she straightened, adopting the posture she was known for. Stiff, unyielding, stern. The new students swept in, looking terrified, for the most part, with the exception of one boy with pale blond hair. He looked suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy- his son, most likely. Minerva filed away her observation and turned to the crowd.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule braking and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup.

"When we go in, I will call your names. You will step up to the front, take your seat on a stool, and be sorted." She swept out the side door leading to the hall, the loud noise assailing her ears. Dumbledore nodded to her and she returned the gesture, making a quick check of her table to ensure the Weasley twins weren't causing too much trouble. Filch placed the stool and Sorting Hat in its place just as the students entered, some wincing at the noise, which was rather extraordinary for only around two hundred and forty students in the entire hall. Minerva unfurled her parchment and read out the first name.

"Abbot, Hannah!" The small girl walked up and sat on the stool as instructed, quickly being sorted into Hufflepuff. She continued reading off names, moving through 'M' (the blond was a Malfoy, as she suspected) and reaching 'P'. Her list had the last, first, then middle names, but she only read the last and first. So it was a shock when she stared at the name she was about to call. It read 'Potter, Harry James'. Her eyes skipped over the 'Harry' and all she saw was 'Potter, James'. James Potter, prankster extraordinaire. James Potter, dead eleven years ago. She finally realized the silence had lasted a beat more than usual, cleared her throat, and read out the name.

"Potter, Harry." A thin boy with glasses, broken at the bridge, and a head of unruly hair like his father, hurried up. He took his seat on the stool and placed the hat on his head carefully, fists clamping shut in surprise, she assumed. Minerva could see his lips moving, but couldn't make out the words. Finally, the silence ended.

"Better be GRYFFINDOR!"


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva sat in her office, quill scratching across a piece of parchment as she graded homework. The Weasley twins, for once, had actually gotten the work done, although in a roundabout manner that required she carefully examine the entire twenty seven inch essay for spells and pranks before she could actually grade it. That's why she was still holed up in her office, not meeting Hagrid, Albus, and Pomona for lunch in Hogsmeade. What she wanted to be doing at that moment, more than going to lunch or grading, was to be helping Madam Hooch instruct the first years in Quidditch. That was why she kept glancing out the window to the pitch and just happened to catch a glimpse of someone racing past her office. She shot up, nearly upsetting the ink bottle, and marched over to the window, watching an interesting scene unfold.

A student was racing downwards on his broomstick, robes flying out behind him. She squinted, trying to make out what he was chasing. It looked like a small, red ball. Minerva figured it was Longbottom's Remembrall that he had received and wondered absently why it was flying through the sky, but pushed away the question and refocused on the student. He had almost reached the ground, sticking out his hand to catch the ball. She waited with bated breath, but figuring he'd probably fail. She'd never seen anyone catch something after a dive like that.

But the student did. Merely feet away from the ground, he clasped the ball in his hand, raising it to the sky in an expression of victory. Then he turned around and she gasped.

Harry Potter had just caught the ball. She spun from the window, robes flapping out behind her as she opened her door and practically raced for the stairs, hurrying down until she reached the first level and the exit onto the pitch. She adjusted her hat and headed out onto the field. As soon as they saw her, all the first years froze from what she assumed was a celebration over Potter's catch. Minerva marched through their ranks to where Potter stood, clutching the Remembrall in his hand and looking positively terrified. She would have smiled, but it would have ruined her authority at the moment. He appeared as if he'd just seen He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself.

"Mr. Potter, come with me. The rest of you, if you even consider taking to the sky, I can assure you you will be expelled before you can come back down." With that, she turned and strode away, catching Malfoy's look of smug superiority at Potter's fate. So that was who had started it, she mused. She led Potter up the stairs and to Professor Flitwick's classroom, gesturing for him to wait there. Minerva opened the door and the class inside silenced, Flitwick staring up at her with a look of expectation on his face.

"Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?" He nodded and Oliver Wood stood, pushing in his chair and putting down his quill to follow her out. Wood shut the door behind himself as they exited and she beckoned for the two to follow. They reached her office a few minutes later and everyone took seats.

"Mr. Wood, meet your new Seeker."


	3. Chapter 3

"Minerva, you can refer to Harry as something other than 'that Potter boy', you know," Albus told her, smiling faintly. She shook her head, lips pressed together into an almost invisible line.

"Albus... No, no. That wouldn't do. I can't show favoritism," she said firmly. She noticed all the portraits in the room were faking sleep but quite obviously listening.

Albus placed his hands on his desk, blue eyes twinkling as they were wont. "It doesn't show favoritism, Minerva, I promise. It's just us here, enjoying some tea while discussing students, not one in particular." Minerva tugged on the sleeve of her robes, turning her gaze from the headmaster to watch the many silver machines in the room, emitting little puffs of smoke. "Minerva," he tried again, "Sirius wasn't your fault." She turned back to him, and to her surprise, she could feel her eyes welling up. She blinked, clearing her vision.

"But what if I had caught him earlier? Poor Harry wouldn't be growing up without parents, living with those awful Muggles!"

"No one could have caught that, Minerva. Not even James did and he was his closest friend. It's the better for all of us if we do not focus on the past, instead what lies ahead. You and I both know the coming year's dangers."

"Don't try to distract me, Albus, it's not right to their memory. James and Lily and Peter all died because I failed." Albus reached a hand across the desk, grasping hers in a platonic gesture of support. She was forced to look at him, wanting to draw away her hand but not able to.

"No one failed," he said. "Least of all you."

She shook her head bitterly, overcome with memories of the Marauders, as they called themselves. James and Sirius putting pink ink in her inkwells. Peter scurrying around after them, so eager to please. Remus trying to keep his friends from being total morons. The four of them, partying in the Common Room after a Quidditch Cup victory, James not-so-subtly handing out firewhiskey and trying to flirt with Lily Evans. "Did I ever tell you where I've disappeared to on the weekends these past years?" Albus shook his head and she took it as her cue to continue. "I was visiting Harry Potter at his home with the Muggles, in my Animgus form, of course." His eyes widened slightly in surprise but he made no move to speak. "Do you- do you know how they treated him, Albus?" She felt the tears coming back and this time couldn't just blink them away, not the memories of the horrors of Harry's childhood. She almost smiled ruefully at her use of his first name, as Albus had urged, but instead continued. "One day, it was his birthday, his sixth, I believe, they made him cook their breakfast, clean the house, and weed the garden before giving him his present. I was watching from the windowsill. They gave him a Muggle pencil, is that what they're called? He just took it and went to his little room under the stairs and stayed there the rest of the day, but I stayed, hoping he'd come out. Hoping I might be able to brighten his day even a little, Merlin knows how.

"Around dinner, he came back out if the cupboard with a piece of paper and his pencil that he'd gotten. Went right up to his aunt and handed her the paper. She saw it and shrieked like she'd seen He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I wondered what he possibly could have drawn, so I waited until I could see the paper. You know what he drew, Albus? He'd drawn his aunt and uncle and their horrible son, all three of them, plus him and written 'I Love My Family' on it in that scribble of a child." She broke off, not wanting to continue and reveal just how choked up she was. Albus smiled kindly, but looked troubled.

"Oh, Minerva, why did you do that to yourself? I-" She cut him off, furious.

"Because we left him there! Hardly more than an infant and we just leave him there and not once did a single soul go to check on him! I had to do something, didn't I, I couldn't leave the savior of the Wizarding World there all by himself without so much as a bird to care one whit for him!"

Albus sighed. "I do apologize, but he was safe."

"No, Albus, he wasn't, do you see how he looked at the beginning of the year? Hardly more than a Bowtruckle, the child was!" She noted with furor that he had chuckled softly.

"Quite an appetite, he has, though not as much as his friend, Ronald Weasley," he remarked. She merely waved one hand dismissively.

"Albus..." She needed to leave, to go see if the boy still was alright, still going around with that cheerful smile and the willingness to please.

Because no matter what she might say to the contrary, Minerva McGonagall was rather attached to the child with James Potter's looks but Lily Evans' eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Minerva carefully flicked her wand, muttering an incantation to transfigure several hundred cloths into banners with the Hogwarts symbol on them.

"Locomotor banners!" she said, watching as the stack of banners rose and directing them to follow her out of the classroom. She marched down the steps to the Great Hall, meeting Filius Flitwick at the base of the stairs. He was also levitating a large bunch of charmed pumpkins, which her banners nearly knocked into.

"I'm so sorry, dear Minerva," Flitwick said quickly, adjusting his spell so the pumpkins moved away.

"No, no, Filius, it's no problem," she assured, pushing open the doors to the Hall with her free hand. They magicked their respective burdens into the Hall and put them on the tables, finding Hagrid, Dumbledore, and Pomona Sprout also decorating.

"Minerva! Just the witch I was looking for!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "Could you put those up on the walls, please?" She acquiesced, casting a Sticking Charm to make all the banners stay put. Then she assisted Hagrid with his Jack 'o' Lanterns, as the Muggles called them, and finished summoning the three thousand bats into the hall. They formed a great dark cloud, flitting among the candles and pumpkin lanterns.

"It looks wonderful," Pomona Sprout said wistfully to Minerva, having just finished growing vines on the pumpkins. Minerva nodded her agreement.

"It does. Do you know what time it is?" she asked.

Pomona checked a watch strapped to her muddy wrists. "Six thirty, my dear." She nodded her thanks and strode towards where Dumbledore was putting the finishing touches on the Head Table.

"Albus, isn't that a bit.. excessive?" She scanned the table, noting the bloodstains on the cloth and the cutlery that appeared to be made out of tiny sharpened bones.

"All in the spirit of the holiday, Minerva!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "What do you think of the tablecloth?" She blanched ever so slightly before regaining her usual composure.

"They're very, um, Halloween-y," she offered, plucking at her only piece of jewelry, a thin, almost invisible gold bracelet from her late husband. Dumbledore laughed heartily before flicking his wand and changing the decor to the typical black and gold. She breathed a slight sigh of relief.

"Headmaster," Snape noted silkily. He had crept up behind them as he was wont to do, but Minerva was too used to it to jump anymore. "The feast is due to begin."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. She couldn't fathom how he was so civil to the Death Eater, but she trusted his judgement, if not Snape himself. "Would you take a seat?" The man nodded and swept silently to his spot. Minerva followed to her spot directly to Dumbledore's right. The rest of the staff followed, Flitwick taking his spot next to her. Finally the students arrived, Minerva's eyes carefully watching her table for any misbehavior, especially Lee Jordan and the twins. The Potter boy took his seat next to the other Weasley, the youngest one. Ronald. She was so consumed in her examination that she almost missed Dumbledore's signal for silence.

"Good evening, students!" he called out, voice amplified magically. "I hope you all have a wonderful evening at tonight's Halloween feast, but I would personally avoid eating the beef Wellington tonight, I have it on good word that it may be haunted!" The audience laughed lightly at the bad joke and Minerva couldn't keep herself from smiling. "Eat up!" He clapped and the tables filled themselves, students reaching eagerly for the food. She selected some of the beef Wellington, despite Dumbledore's good-natured ribs at her for her willingness to eat ghosts ("What if that's Peeves you're eating?") and a scoop of mashed potatoes, along with her favorite, pumpkin stew. But before she even got a good chance to enjoy her meal, the doors banged open dramatically to reveal Quirrell jogging up the central aisle towards the table, turban bobbing. The hall silenced, heads turning to stare.

"Troll... In the dungeons," he gasped. "Thought- thought you should know." Then the young professor swayed and collapsed. The space erupted, several teachers, including herself, standing up. Dumbledore shouted for silence, but couldn't be heard, so instead muttered 'Sonorus!' and tried again.

"SILENCE!" he roared. Minerva winced slightly at his tone, hand reaching towards her pocket for her wand. "All prefects, take your houses directly back to your common rooms immediately. Absolutely no detours! This will be dealt with by the teachers!" All the prefects complied instantly, leading their tables out of the hall. As soon as they were gone, Dumbledore turned towards the Head Table.

"Please, everyone, head to the dungeons to look for the troll. But Severus, the third floor, if you please," he said quietly. Snape nodded stiffly and swept out, robes flapping. Minerva followed Dumbledore from the room, heading towards the staircases that led to the dungeons. She pulled her wand, muttering a simple 'Lumos' to have some light to go by, despite the lanterns flickering dimly against the walls. Suddenly, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, but didn't see anything. Creeping forwards, she moved around a corner to hear loud crashes and sobbing, then one final thump that shook the floors. It seemed to be coming from a girl's bathroom, so she hurried towards the door, somehow collecting Snape and a very pale Quirrel along the way. She burst into the room, revealing a huge troll lying on the floor and two students standing alongside it. Potter and the Weasley youngster.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she said, furious. Potter glanced at the Weasley, who was holding his wand as if to cast a spell. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?" She chose to ignore the scathing look Snape aimed at her students.

"Please, Professor McGonagall- they were looking for me," a small voice announced. She turned, shocked to see the textbook-perfect Hermione Granger down here.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed. The girl moved out of the shadows.

"I went looking for the troll because I- I thought I could deal with it on my own- you know, because I've read all about them." Someone's wand clattered to the floor, as nearly did her own at the shock of the brilliant girl being so dim-witted.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived." Minerva glared at the trio.

"Well- in that case. Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" The girl in question hung her head. "Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," she announced in a tone of finality, "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses." Hermione nodded and hurried out. Minerva turned to the two left. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go." The pair left quickly and Minerva rubbed her temples in a rare show of fatigue, then turned to the door. She knew Snape was about to protest her light sentencing but didn't feel like dealing with him at the moment. Climbing the stairs back to her office and rooms, she had to admit, she was proud of her students.

But also incredibly relieved that they were safe, especially Harry Potter. She just couldn't have dealt with his death or injury, eleven years to the night that his parents were killed and he received that scar. Minerva McGonagall had to admit, the boy was growing on her.


	5. Chapter 5

The page of the catalogue turned easily with a flick of her wand, not wanting to accidentally spill something on the only broom catalogue in Hogwarts. A large advertisement caught her eye.

"Nimbus 2000, zero to sixty in .3 seconds! Want the best for your Quidditch team or racing endeavors? Here's your broom!" She peered closer at the page in excitement, before looking at the price along the bottom. Seven-hundred forty-nine galleons. She groaned. How on earth was she supposed to scrounge up that much gold? Then she remembered.

The trust account.

Her husband had left her around ten thousand Galleons in a trust at Gringotts. She'd never dipped into it before- she hadn't needed to. All she needed was her spot at Hogwarts, an occasional set of new robes, and her cottage on the lake in Britain. At least, she hadn't needed anything until now. Gathering up her traveling cloak and wand, along with a small moneybag, she headed towards Hogsmeade.

When she reached the small village, her path took her towards the train station. As soon as she reached it, she spun on the spot, disappearing with a loud crack. Mere moments later, her chest expanded as she took a huge breath, freed from the iron bands of Apparation.

"Morning, Madam McGonagall," Tom greeted her.

"Good morning to you also, Tom," she said formally. Tom was kindly but she'd never really been more than a very distant acquaintance.

"Anythin' for you?" She shook her head, continuing through the bar to the back alleyway. There she pulled her wand, tapped the correct brick, and stood back as the archway appeared, then headed through. The streets of the colorful wizard shopping area were crowded, small children running everywhere under the beautiful sun that was shining down. She quickly made her way towards the towering marble edifice of Gringotts, passing the morbid poem and the pair of guards at the entrance. The hall was relatively crowded, so she waited, checking to ensure that she had her key.

"Next!" a goblin shouted. Minerva looked up and realized it was her turn, so she hurried over to the goblin. His desk was crowded with paperwork, a stack of huge rubies, and a set of scales.

"What can I do for you today, Madam McGonagall?" She nearly groaned aloud- she hated being called 'Madam'.

"I'd like to access my late husband's trust account, please," she told him, passing over her small gold key. The goblin picked up a jeweler's loupe and examined it quickly before nodding.

He handed her the key again. "Let's go." Then he hopped down from the stool and hurried to the doors at the end of the hall. She strode after him, heels clicking against the marble floor. The goblin already had a cart by the time she reached the entrance to the tunnel system and so she merely took her place in the back before they set off, zooming down the rails in hairpin turns that made her stomach flip. The cart suddenly slowed to a stop near a door marked '8019M' and the pair hopped out. She quickly inserted her key into the lock and the door popped open, revealing mounds of gold.

But not nearly so much as she had hoped. Maybe three thousand Galleons, no more, were piled in the vault. Despite her disappointment, she swept a third of the treasure into the bag, which she had placed an Undetectable Expansion charm on.

"Done?" the goblin grunted. Minerva nodded and hurried back to the cart after locking the door. Five minutes later, they were back on the surface and she escaped the close confinement and all-too-clean bank. Once she was on her way to the Quidditch shop, she breathed a sigh of relief at even having the money at all for the broom she had in mind. A bell tinkled on the door of the shop as she entered, the place smelling of wood and oil.

"Minerva! Long time, no see!" a jolly voice called out. She spun to see her old team captain, Quidderus Langston, standing behind a counter.

"Hello, Langley," she called, using his nickname as she made her way through the store to his counter. He aimed his famous crooked grin her way and she couldn't help but respond. It had been so long since she'd seen any of her old friends.

"Didn't expect to see you out shopping for a broom nowadays," he said, chuckling.

"I'm not buying for me," she admitted.

"Then who?"

"It's a very long story."

"I have time," he offered, patting a spare stool. She shook her head.

"Not today, Langley." He acquiesced with a dip of his head.

"Then what do you need?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," she said quickly, as if to negate the price with the rate of her speech. Langston turned and rummaged through a stack of long, thin boxes before selecting one. It was labeled in gold script along the top and he opened it to reveal a beautiful broom inside.

"Seven hundred forty-nine, Minerva," he told her, almost regretful. Before she could stop herself, she carefully counted out her money and passed it over the counter.

"Could you wrap it and send it off, please?" she asked, passing over another five Galleons for the postage of such a large object.

"Of course, but where to?" She gestured for a piece of parchment and pulled out a small quill, quickly scribbling down an address and passing him the slip of paper. His eyes scanned it, widening in surprise.

"Harry Potter?" She told him it was so and before she could change her mind, rushed out and Disapparated.

Two days later, she was seated at her usual spot on the Head Table at breakfast, waiting for the owls to come in. After a few minutes of hundreds of owls sweeping in and out without any sign of the package she'd sent, she returned to her meal, but then five owls appeared, holding what seemed to be a broomstick, at least to her hopeful eyes. The owls directed it towards the Gryffindor table, slowly approaching Harry Potter. She smiled at his expression of utter shock, almost laughing. Dumbledore peered over his glasses at her, a smile lighting up his features.

"Well, Minerva, I must say, it took a while to convince me of the need for such a fancy broom, but it appears you've made Harry quite happy."

"If nothing else," she agreed. "It would be the height of folly to not let James Potter's son play Quidditch." Secretly, though, it had nothing to do with James or Quidditch at all.

Just making a boy who saved the lives of everyone in the room feel appreciated, too.

A few days later, she watched from her window as Harry practiced on his broom, a smile on his face and his hair looking exactly the same as his father's every time he was on a broom. She couldn't help but remember his father, then, not that she didn't every time Harry spoke or moved- anything but look at her with those emerald eyes of Lily Evans.


	6. Chapter 6

Adjusting a Gryffindor badge that she had pinned onto her robes, Minerva scooped up her wand from its spot on the desk. It was the first Quidditch match of the season and she was eager to get the pitch. She locked her office door behind herself and hurried down the stairs, following a flood of students, most adorned in Gryffindor red and gold. The crowd reached the stadium and split up, racing for the best seats they could find. Minerva's path took her up to the announcer's booth, her normal seat. Lee Jordan was already waiting, playing with a spare Quaffle he had found somewhere.

"Hey, Professor," he said cheerfully, spinning in his chair. She nodded to him and took the seat to his left, focusing out the window onto the pitch, where both teams were standing, awaiting instruction. For the sake of surprise, she'd purposely avoided watching her team practice, especially Potter. Excepting, of course, the first time he'd flown his Nimbus.

"Welcome to the first game of the season, Slytherin vs Gryffindor!" Lee roared, shocking her into attention. And then they were off. Her eyes followed Harry into the sky, his broom far outstripping all the others. Then she tuned back in to the announcements Lee was making.

"-and quite pretty, too!" he quipped.

"Jordan!" she yelled, furious. He threw her an apologetic grin and she rolled her eyes. Looking out the window, she noticed Harry spiraling far above the crowd, obviously looking for the Snitch and trying to get out of Bludger range. Focused on him, she didn't notice the game's score until Lee shouted it in her ear.

"And it's now sixty-ten to Gryffindor!"

That's when her heart nearly stopped. Harry's broomstick started shaking in the air, the eyes of the crowd turning to him. He was flipped so he was hanging like a sloth, then slipped so he was hanging by only one hand. He kept trying to regain his seat but he couldn't manage it. Slytherin kept scoring but she ignored it, focused on Harry with bated breath. How she wanted to go out there and save him, but she knew she shouldn't, he'd be fine, if his father was anything to judge by.

There it was again. His father. Oh, why did he have to be so much like him? A reflection, in everything but mannerisms. She roused herself from her thoughts and glanced upwards once more. Then the broom stopped shaking. Minerva let out a sigh of barely disguised relief as the crowd cheered and Harry dove downwards, obviously having seen something. The Slytherin Seeker chased after him but couldn't catch him. He was so close, so close, and her nails were biting holes into her palms as she completely ignored Lee's commentary and the rest of the game. He stretched out a hand to the fluttering golden ball, nearly standing up on his broom as he inched closer. Almost, almost.

WHAM! Harry hit the ground and she nearly cried out in fear, fear for this child that had touched her heart for some unfathomable reason. He rolled across the green for several feet before stopping and ending up on his hands and knees, choking. She found herself praying to some unknown deity that she wasn't the cause of his death or injury because she bought him that broomstick, encouraged him to play this dangerous sport. Then he coughed one final time, cupping his hand to his mouth, and triumphantly held up a small, golden ball. He'd caught the Snitch and she couldn't believe it. Minerva wanted so badly to rush into the field to congratulate him like everyone else but she held herself back, instead making her way downstairs and back into the castle, hands shaking.

Because she was not ready to watch Harry Potter be hurt in any way, shape, or form. Not after the last Potter that she'd somehow loved like a mother, despite all his faults. But ready or not, he was here to stay and she had no idea what to do.

She had no idea.


End file.
